Hair, Mouth and Hands
by BoxOfTrinkets
Summary: Freddie thinks of all the things about Sam that he hates. This is somewhat an angry response to Mr. Schnieder about the lack of seddie love in the new episodes.


I hate her.

She acts like nothing ever happened. Like the fucking hour I spent feeling her up in the elevator after we broke up never happened. Like I hadn't told her I loved her and that she answered back that she did.

And I hate her.

I've been watching her for the better part of the movie she and Carly put on right before they fell asleep on the couch. She sat next to me on the couch, just throwing her irritating little smirk at me and setting down like nothing ever happened.

I thought there would at least have been a tiny spark left, the tiniest hint of the tender Sam I knew underneath all her insults she threw my way, but nothing. And thanks to her stubbornness, I have to act the same way.

And I hate her for it.

She groans lightly in her sleep, her nose wrinkling as she pulled the blanket around her and Carly tighter, making Carly snore and yank back on it. Carly wins the blanket and Sam's leg is exposed, she's wearing shorts tonight, she curls it up towards herself slightly and making her ankle rest on my thigh. I let it rest there.

Even though I hate her.

I let my head fall sideways, my nose inches from hers.

I hate how beautiful she is.

I hate the way her long blonde eyelashes fan out on her pale skin like paintbrushes. I hate the eighteen freckles that spatter her nose and cheekbones that I spent forever counting that one rainy afternoon in her room.

I hate her hair.

I hate the way it spills around her shoulders, the way one curl falls over her hair like a halo and dangles temptingly between her eyelashes. When we were younger and she wore her hair longer it would fascinate me, like she was all flowing blonde hair and sarcasm. I used to hate her for her ability to make me pay attention to her even though I didn't want to.

I still hate her.

I hate the way her full lips were parted slightly, chapped from sleeping with her mouth open, two tiny indents from where she bites her lip. I hate the way I want so badly to kiss her, to moisten those chapped lips and leave my own damn bite marks.

I hate the way her tiny hand is curled up by her face, the chipped purple nail polish on her nibbled fingernails gleaming at me in the tv reflection.

I hate her hands.

They always used to fascinate me, like everything else about her. They were so small, and such small hands shouldn't be able to hurt him the way hers did, and no one with hands that small should rightfully be able to take down men three times her size. I hate the perfect way her tiny hands fit perfectly into mine, her tiny and surprisingly elegant fingers winding artfully around my own knobby fingers... I hate how gentle I know they can be, carefully cupping me face as she kissed me, sliding softly down my chest right after they had almost nervously removed my shirt. I hate how much I love her hands.

She whines softly in her sleep, curling her leg higher around mine and moving so her forehead rests on my shoulder. Her mouth hangs a little further open.

I hate her mouth.

I hate all the insults and indifference that comes out of it these days. I hate how she only uses it to smirk at me now. I hate how much I miss it. The feeling of her slightly chapped lips against mine before her tongue moistens them as she kisses me hard, her tongue as rough and demanding as she is. I hate how beautiful she looks when she smiles; real smiles that were usually reserved for Carly and only were mine until recently.

I hate her.

I look down as I feel her move again. She nudges my shoulder with her forehead, snuggling until she's lying on my chest, her shoulder conveniently landing under my arm. I let my arm wrap around her thin shoulders, habit taking over now and my hand begins to trail through her hair. The instant she let out a sigh through her nose, and I smiled.

She only sighed with her mouth closed when she was awake.

I almost laugh. Sneaky little girl was awake all the whole time.

I decide to not call her out on it and I continue to pet the long golden hair I hated as the tiny white hands I hated clutched at my shirt and that mouth that I hated stayed closed the whole night as I stroked her hair.

I hate her.

I hate how I can't stop loving her.

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